


A Study in Dancing

by RosesandStatues



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Baking, Beautiful, Dancing, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, How Do I Tag, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I worked hard on it and liked how it ended, If you don’t doesn’t that suck for you, Love Confessions, Oneshot, Soufflés, Sweet, Third Person POV, To keep her safe, You fuckers better read this, he left her, im done, sweatpants and tank tops, whouffle, yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesandStatues/pseuds/RosesandStatues
Summary: He dooms himself each time they dance, each time her arms wrap around his neck, and his around her waist, each time she rests her head on his chest and they sway to the beat, not really dancing, but certainly doing something.





	A Study in Dancing

He dooms himself each time they dance, each time her arms wrap around his neck, and his around her waist, each time she rests her head on his chest and they sway to the beat, not really dancing, but certainly doing  _ something _ .

The first time was when they visited the planet Cronoe. He had promised her something beautiful, and when she walked out the Tardis doors, her face lit up. The planet was covered in ice, whites mixed with blues mixed with grays, creating a stunning whirlwind of colors that seemed to change with each passing second. It was freezing, breath fogging in front of their noses, fingertips pressed into palms of hands in an attempt to keep them warm. Her cheeks filled with red, her eyes sparkled so brightly they seemed to outshine the glare of the ice.

“It’s amazing,” she had said, burrowing deeper into the puffy coat that reached her knees.

“Yes,” he had replied, and he wasn’t certain whether he was talking about the planet. 

They walked until the Tardis was a blue smear only slightly darker than the rest of the ice. She had stared down at the ground, eyes picking out each individual mark, each change in shape, texture, size. “How far down does the ice go?”

“Miles and miles and miles.” He launched into an explanation of how when the planet finally does gain life, the locals would believe that gods lived under the ice, and that if they didn’t hold sacrifices every year, the gods would tear apart the ice and consume them. What they saw as the gods swallowing people whole was only, in fact, the ice cracking and melting from the planet leaving it’s ice age stage. 

She cut him off before he could continue into how the locals eventually evolved to underwater life by grabbing his hand. She spun to face him, face tilting up slightly so she could look him in the eye. “Let’s dance.”

He blinked, “What?”

“Dance. Us. Come on.” She stepped closer and placed her free hand on his shoulders, tangling the fingers of her other palm even further into his. He automatically reached out and placed a warm grip on her waist. 

And they were dancing, twirling through the ice and snow, cutting through the frigid air as they spun in spirals. He remembered dancing coming to him like breathing in his past bodies, and swore at his clumsy feet, his gangly limbs that seemed to only get in the way. 

She didn’t mind, smiling slightly each time he stuttered an apology when he stepped on her toes, or stumbled and nearly dragged her to the ground. 

But his feet once again grew accustomed to the steps, and soon they were dancing seamlessly, sharing the same breath, green eyes meeting brown. He doesn’t remember when it started snowing, or when his fingers grew numb, or when this rosy feeling in his chest spread to the rest of his fingers. 

He does remember wondering exactly what he did to deserve her, and he does remember impatiently brushing snow from her face, and the flutter in his chest when the light caught her  _ just right _ , forming a halo around her head. 

He remembers thinking that she was beautiful. 

He remembers thinking he should end this, step away, keep himself distant. But he couldn’t do it, not when she was everything, and he felt like nothing. Not when she was pure light that chased away his darkness. 

Later. He’d keep himself distant later, he’d push her away later. 

Now, though, now he wanted to dance.

 

The second time, they were on a different planet, he doesn’t remember it’s name, or, hell, even where it is. He remembers how every year the inhabitants hold a world-wide celebration, as a sort of commemoration for everything that had occured the following year: the good and the bad.

He remembers how happy everyone looked, how laughter rang through the air, and smiles ran rampant through faces. 

He remembers how happy  _ she _ looked. How they had wandered around for a while, tasting food, talking with the locals, amusing the children with magic tricks. How when they heard the music, a huge grin painted itself across her face, and she had grabbed his hand and dragged him until they found the source: a busker playing lively notes, much to the delight of the dancers that had gathered in front of him. 

She didn’t ask, but pulled him into the crowd, hands finding their place on his shoulders. He was going to protest- he was  _ supposed _ to keep himself distant, he wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to get close, but the way she smiled at him, the way the light seemed to melt her eyes from their usual chocolate brown into liquid amber, he decided that later hadn’t come yet. 

They danced until their feet grew sore, through song after song after song. They danced long after the busker left and the crowd dispersed. They danced until the three suns sunk under the horizon and four moons replaced them. They danced until constellations different than the ones back on Earth dotted the sky.

They danced until he was sure he was in love.

The third time, it was a Wednesday, and she hadn’t wanted to go out. 

“Oh,” he had said, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “I’ll see you next week then.”

She had huffed at that, and opened the door wider- he had miraculously parked  _ outside _ her house, instead of inside. “I never said you had to leave.” 

A grin crossed his face and he stepped through the doorway, breathing in the scent of lilies, vanilla, and something so unmistakably  _ Clara. _

She turned and padded her way barefoot to her kitchen, him trailing behind her. She was only wearing a dark blue tank top and grey sweatpants, and he thought that she couldn’t have been more perfect. 

A deformed soufflé sat baking in the oven, filling the air with the smell of pastry. Soft music echoed out of an old speaker that sat on her kitchen counter, and she kept in time to the beat, tapping her foot slightly, as she whirled around the kitchen, picking up the mess created from her latest baking escapade. Her hips rocked slightly, head bobbing, and he wanted to imprint this image of her into her brain: wearing too large sweatpants, a baggy tank top that kept slipping down her shoulders, dancing around her kitchen while a soufflé burned in the oven. 

This time, it was  _ him _ who grabbed  _ her _ hand. This time  _ he _ pulled  _ her _ into a waltz as a slow song worked its way from the speaker. She grinned up at him, and he returned the smile, eyes crinkling slightly.

She was had a galaxy in her eyes, a universe in her mind, and he never wanted this moment to end, not ever.

 

The fourth time they danced she was crying. He had sent her away, tried to make  _ later _ be  _ now _ . He was scared and stupid and he wanted to scream and cry alongside her.

Because she was human and he was Timelord. Because one day she was going to get shot, or drown, or burn, and he wouldn’t be able to save her. One day she was going to die, and it was going to tear him apart, like it had all the times before. 

So he sent her away, dropped her off at her apartment and told her that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand over her mangled body. He couldn’t bury her.

When he finally came back, finally materialized inside her house like he had before, like nothing had changed, she greeted him with a slap. She was crying and she wouldn’t let him hug her, and he  _ knew _ it was wrong, he  _ knew _ it was cruel, and he wanted  _ so badly _ to go back and do everything over again.

But he couldn’t, and so his own damn pigheadedness had brought him nothing but pain. 

“ _ You left me! _ ” She has choked out. “ _ You just dropped me off and left! _ ”

He briefly realized that he was crying too- crying, what an odd experience. He wrapped his arms around her, to which she responded with beating her fists against his chest hard enough that it hurt. 

“Go on,” her voice cracked. “Make it easy and say that I didn’t matter. That  _ nothing _ we did mattered.” 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated it like a mantra, hugging her until he finally convinced himself that he hadn’t lost her by trying to save her.

She stopped hitting him, but didn’t hug him back, shoulders racked with sobs as she breathed him in and tried to convince herself that this wasn’t a dream. That he really was  _ back _ . 

“You were gone for an entire year.”

He crumpled at that, terrified that she had moved on, forgot him. Found someone else. 

He didn’t respond, but hugged her tighter, rocking slightly back and forth.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually said.  _ I love you _ , he thought.

“I thought you died, or, or were stuck somewhere,” her voice wavered, muffled from the sobs and the fabric of his shirt. She was quiet for a long time, arms eventually reaching up to wrap around his thin frame. “I thought that you didn’t care.”  _ I love you too. _

He wished desperately that he wasn’t so  _ fucking stupid _ , “Oh Clara. My Clara.” He pulled away so he could meet her puffy red eyes. “I’m sorry.” His voice broke like hers did. “I’m sorry I’m so stupid. I’m sorry I left you.”

Tears traces their way down her face, pooling around the side of her mouth. He wiped away a rivulet as he continued, “I’m sorry I never told you that I love the way your smile. That I love your laugh. That I love your walk and how your nose crinkles when you get really angry. That I love your eyes, even though I know how much you hate them.”

He reached up and cupped her face, suddenly finding that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to, “I love how you always do the right thing, and how you’re always so curious about everything. I love how you curl into a ball when you sleep, and you never let anything stop you from doing what you want.” 

He leaned down and touched their foreheads together, “I love that you’re never ashamed of who you are, and that you always look beautiful even if you’re wearing the most hideous shirt ever.”

She laughed slightly at that, a broken, wet noise that didn’t sound very happy at all. “I care so much that it burns, and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Her hand reached up and rubbed away a stray tear that had rolled itself down his cheek. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to kiss me?”

“If you want.”

“Please.” Their noses brushed, “I think I would like nothing more.”

It was beautiful and sloppy and certainly not the best kiss either of them had had. Her fingers tangled in his hair, his rubbed away her tears, and both of theirs would occasional dance over the other’s face, as if reassuring themselves that this is  _ real,  _ they are  _ here _ . 

The fourth time they danced, it wasn’t really a dance, but an end to one. An end to how they danced around each other with sly touches and long stares and a refusal to believe that the other liked them the way they did. 

It didn’t end with both of their fingers numb as the cold slowly deeper into their bones, it didn’t end with them suddenly realizing that it was pitch dark outside it and was probably time they left, it didn’t end with the radio giving way from songs into commercials.

It ended with Clara finally pulling away for air, with the Doctor chasing her lips in an attempt to make the kiss last longer.

It ended with, “Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I love you.”

It ended with a, “I love you too.”


End file.
